Brother Mine
by soclara
Summary: After everything else is gone, brothers are forever. (Char. death)


The flame of the lighter bloomed in front of their faces, the two MacManus brothers sitting on a dingy floor in their bathrobes. Connor lit his cigarette, let the smoke and poison seep into his lungs, work its magic on his nerves. But his hands still shook despite himself.

"We've done some crazy shit, haven't we, brother mine?"

Connor chuckled and shook his head, patting his brother's mussed hair. It always stuck up at every angle, no matter how much gel Murphy put in it. He had gotten so sick of it, his sixteen year old brother, that he shaved it all off in a fit right before the St. Patty's ball. Not a second after the last hair had fallen, he had screamed at Connor: _how the FUCK could ya let me do that, ya fuckin' retard?! Oh, SHIT, I'm bald! I'm fuckin' bald! _Connor couldn't remember a time he had laughed harder than that morning. He told the story at least twice a year, always to the same guys at the pub, and it never failed, not once. Murphy acted like he was annoyed, but the upward twitch of his lip as he told his brother to _feck off _told him he relished the attention despite himself.

"Aye, we've had some adventures. We're fuckin' heroes. Saints. And Saints never die, you know that, Murph?"

He smiled at his brother, his other half, the only family he had left. They'd lost their mother to alcohol, their father to revenge, and he'd be damned if he would lose his brother, too. He'd do anything, kill anyone for his brother, and he knew Murphy would do the same. They had been through too much, been inseparable too long, to let the other go.

"Damn, they really did a number on me, eh?" Connor muttered as he touched the welts circling his wrists from where the handcuffs had dug in deep. "Damn cops, think they can throw the MacManus brothers in jail? I fuckin' think not! Don't give me that look, Murph; I'm fine. We're both fine. They stitched us right up, didn't they?"

Connor grinned and slapped his brother on the shoulder, "They're just mad we're doin' their jobs better than them!" The smile slid slowly from his face, though his hand remained on his brother's shoulder, the stiff muscles underneath his palm reflecting his growing frustration.

"I just- I wish it hadn't cost so much. Like Da. Rocco. And we should've gotten Romeo out with us. Right? I know it was our only chance to get out, but he was _one of us,_ ya know? Fuck…" Connor sighed. "Nah, he understands. He was a good guy, even being such a damn queer. Remember those guns, Murph? _Colorful culture_, indeed."

Connor laughed, sharp and loud, cutting into his ears as it echoed around the small room. He shook his head as his laughter calmed and patted his brother on the shoulder again, trying to relax his tense shoulders at least a fraction. Pretend it was all okay, everything that happened, for Murphy. Everything he did, had done, would do was for Murphy, even when he didn't know it himself. He was nothing without his brother, and they both knew it. There was no Murphy without Connor. There was no Connor without Murphy. Their lines blurred together, they were a single entity. Murphy thought it was God's will for them to work together as they did, and it was, but not in the way he thought. Connor knew; they worked because they were one. They bickered, traded punches, insults, injuries, but they _worked._ Despite everything thrown against them, they came out on the other side, unscathed (for the most part).

"I'll never leave you, Murph, don't you worry. You're stuck with me forever, ya little fuck," he chortled. "Even if the whole damn Italian mafia comes raining down on us, we get through it together, just like before. Right? Don't need anybody else this time. No Rocco, no Romeo, no Da. Just us two."

Murphy's shoulders were still tense, persistently worried. Connor tried every trick he knew of to get his brother to quit his damn sulking, to no avail. His brother wouldn't speak, wouldn't so much as look at him, his eyes hooded and glazed over.

"Come on, talk to me, Murph," Connor pleaded, shaking his brother's shoulder. "I know you're pissed about everything: Da, Romeo, jail, _everything_. But you need to get the fuck over it, all right? I'm right as rain; you should be more like me."

Nothing.

"Murphy, damn it, stop your shit right now. I'm sick of you always pouting about everything, all right? Get the fuck up already, I'm not carrying your lazy ass out of here!"

Connor shook him harder, seizing his shoulders in a clawed grip in the hopes that pain would snap him out of it. But still nothing; Murphy just let it happen, allowed his body to be jostled back and forth without so much as a glance in Connor's direction.

"MURPHY! What the fuck is your issue, asshole?! Fucking look at me! Look at me, Murphy! LOOK AT ME!" Connor screamed in his brother's face, spit landing on his cheek. Then Murphy finally moved, his head lolling forward onto his chest.

Connor blinked, and the room opened up to him.

The dried blood on his wrists from the handcuffs.

The toilet torn up from the mildewed floor, flooding water.

The puddle of crimson seeping in a messy halo on the carpet.

His brother in his arms, quiet as he never was, eyes half-lidded and staring at nothing as the same crimson rode a trail down his face from the bullet hole in his forehead.

His brother, skin gray and muscles stiffened in rigor mortis, dead for hours.

Those pale eyes, staring at nothing, at darkness, accusing him. _You were too late._

They had left him with a punishment worse than death. It had just been a damn bar fight. That was all. Wrong place, wrong time.

Just when Connor opened his mouth to scream, he blinked.

And then grinned.

"Murphy, what the hell are you doing? Sleeping at this hour? Lazy feck."

He jostled his brother, put an arm around his shoulders, and pulled him close.

"Hey, do you remember the time I crushed that Russian thug with the toilet? Then I jumped out the window and landed like a damn ninja… just to save your ass, brother mine. I always do."

END.

A/N: Thanks for reading. This is my first time publishing anything here, and I'm not 100% sure if it translated the way I meant for it to (it's so much easier to understand when it's coming from your own head, you see). This kind of just spilled out of me at random an hour ago, so I apologize if it's all over the place! Anyway, I welcome any helpful critical reviews (as well as positive, of course :-D), tell me if I could done something better or word something differently if you wish or if you don't know what the feck is going on, anything. Just thanks! :-)


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